


what's your drug of choice

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gambling, Gen, Sexual Slavery, Yogsquest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2428208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty thousand credits can keep Captain Basil Longshorts and his ship and his robot 5130-N secure for a long time, but for once, he doesn't want the money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's your drug of choice

**Author's Note:**

> Major props to [Isis](http://www.effloresceinfinite.tumblr.com). Also [Wizy](http://www.wisp-queen.tumblr.com).

Atlas Earthchaser is chuckling as he pets the silver haired human boy sitting on his bent leg. The boy apparently has been trained not to flinch, but his lips are pressed together tightly in a small frown. The secure lead to the band around the boy’s neck is locked to Atlas’s belt.

“I’m pretty proud of this little guy,” Atlas adds. “I won him about a year ago. One of those prizes that’s worth waiting a bit longer for your luck to pull through. I mean,” Atlas takes a handful of the boy’s hair and buries his fingers in the locks, “Look at this. It’s not dyed or anything.”

The boy closes his eyes briefly as the hands continue to touch him, then he directs his gaze to the floor. Basil forces his hands to unclench and his face to remain passive. He discreetly checks that his left arm has not yet turned into an energy blaster.

“Are we going to play some poker or are you going to talk everything that’s happened to you since we last saw each other?” Basil asks. A sudden thought occurs to him and he grins. “Last I remember, your so called ‘luck’ has shit timing, especially when you decide to play seriously. At least, it’s been shitty luck every time you’ve played against me. What are you ready to lose this time?”

Atlas smirks dangerously. “Oh, I’ve gotten a lot better since I lost to you last time, Shitlord Longshorts. In fact, that’s why I brought this guy with me,” Atlas grabs the band around the boy’s throat and yanks it forward a few inches. The boy almost falls off his seat, but rights himself quickly to keep from making a scene. “I’ve had nothing but luck since getting my hands on him. I sure as hell ain’t losing to you now.”

Basil refuses to think about what Atlas has been implying since he started bragging about his slave. He glares at the dealer. “Is that third player coming anytime soon? I’m getting tired of just waiting.”

“Yes, sir, just a moment, sir,” the dealer says, panicked. He waves frantically at a man at one of the side stations, who runs off quickly. 

“So you’ve still got that little rag of a ship you won a few years back, huh?” Atlas asks.

Basil shrugs. “She’s turned into something quite nice since I got her. I’ve got some pretty powerful weaponry on her, and Simon keeps her clean and maintained. All I have to do is win at poker enough to put in some fuel, get me some food and supplies, and I can fly off wherever I want to go in the galaxy.”

Atlas’s eyes narrow briefly. “Still bounty hunting? Or have you moved onto bigger prey?”

Cautiously, Basil answers, “I go after bounties when I want something to do. I’m not getting into piracy, if that’s what you’re asking about.”

“It’s a business,” Atlas says, shrugging. “Yields some pretty rare and unusual finds, even if you run across junk for months before you find anything interesting.”

The dealer relaxes. A third player is coming to the table. Basil cracks his fingers, ready to begin.

~~~~

Luck is not with Atlas tonight. From his first hand, he begins losing, and he doesn’t make much of a comeback beyond a few times that Basil decided to fold, just to keep Atlas and Vail LeRone guessing. LeRone takes his defeats well, but leaves the table halfway into the night, although not before complimenting Basil on his skill.

“You’re going to go far,” he says loudly, over the music and chatter of three dozen different alien species.

Atlas, however, was and always will be a stubborn bastard and a loser in denial. He eventually pushes his slave off his lap, grumbling about things that Basil can’t quite make out. The boy sits silently out of sight, and Basil hopes Atlas isn’t kicking him.

Finally, after several incredibly lucky hands, Basil knows Atlas can’t keep playing. The dealer informs Atlas, “If you’d like to keep playing, you’ll have to pay for more credits,” and Basil is pleased to see Atlas’ face turn red.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” Atlas growls. He stands up and snatches the lead. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“Actually,” Basil interrupts. “I’d be happy to give you back all the money you put into the game.”

Atlas scowls at Basil. “I don’t need your charity. I wasn’t even aware you cared--”

“--If you give me him,” Basil interjects. He gestures at Atlas’ slave. Atlas’ face contorts again when he realizes the trade he’s being offered.

Basil knows Atlas loves his money. He just needs to be sure that he loves his money--and winning--more than he likes his sex slave.

It’s a long and silent showdown as Basil holds his ground, Atlas is visibly torn between a silver-haired child and two hundred thousand credits, and the dealer clearly is uncomfortable at being stuck at his card table. 

Atlas shoves the lead across the table at Basil. “I’m going to get him back tomorrow night, Longshorts.”

“Fuck off, Atlas.” Basil takes the lead and moves around the table so the kid isn’t being pulled by the short lead. 

Before Atlas even starts to walk away, Basil hands the lead to the boy. “You take that. I certainly don’t need it.”

“You sure?” The boy speaks for the first time with a voice that is clear, yet layered with wariness and exhaustion at all the crap in the universe. Basil wishes that voice didn’t belong to someone so young. “You just won me. Your winnings could have been a lot of money, but instead you put it all into getting a sex slave. Most people wouldn’t just let their new expensive property wander after them.”

Atlas narrows his eyes at the boy, but Basil glares at him. Finally, Atlas leaves, along with his bodyguard.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Basil scolds. “I’m going to get that damn thing off you as soon as we get to my ship, and then you can throw it into space or an incinerator or whatever you want. Alright?”

The boy looks confused, but when Basil begins walking out of the casino, he is following. He remains close to Basil, looking from side to side to avoid stray hands. He also pulls up his shirt collar to hide the band as best as he can.

When they step outside, the noise is low enough that Basil can hear their footsteps.

“What’s your name? Atlas told you mine, though he put in a lot of insults too… It’s Basil Longshorts.”

The boy has moved to walk almost at Basil’s side.

“...Deborah. My name’s Deborah.”

“I’ve got a cleaning robot on my ship, Deborah,” Basil explains as they walk. “His name is some weird jumble of letters and numbers, so I just call him Simon” They pass by a clothing shop and Basil mentally reminds himself to find some things that will fit Deborah soon. They’ll probably move to a different location in the city and spend the rest of the night there, along with most of next morning. 

“Simon the cleaning robot,” Deborah mutters. “Alright.”

They pass a closed hair salon and a convenience store in the middle of a midnight robbery and then they arrive at the parking lot where Basil left the ship. Free parking comes with the inconveniences of being slightly far from the casinos. The lights are on in the ship, and Basil smiles, knowing they’re going to walk in on Simon, or 5130-N, fixing up the secondhand refrigerator Basil bought after he had to launch the last one into space to escape from space pirates.

There’s a small laugh from behind Basil. He looks over his shoulder and Deborah has covered his mouth, but is still giggling. 

“What?” Basil asks, already happy that Deborah isn’t permanently scarred and damaged from his childhood thus far.

“Rim Hopper? Where did that name come from?”

The childish laugh doesn’t last long, so Basil doesn’t keep Deborah waiting and answers, “She’s a fantastic ship that hops around the outer rim of the galaxy looking for adventure.” 

Deborah takes it all in for a moment. Then, “It’s kind of small.”

Basil shrugs. He directs the boy to a sealed porthole at the side of the ship and knocks loudly on it. “Hey, Simon! I’m back! Put down the vacuum for one minute and let us in!”

Soon, the door hisses open and Basil is met once again by his robot companion who has far too much zeal for cleaning. Simon gives Basil a condescending stare, just like he always does whenever Basil leaves the ship to go someplace even remotely dirty. Then Simon sees Deborah and the lights that indicate his perception glow brighter. He climbs down the short ladder that has come out from the ship and peers at Deborah.

“Who is this, Captain?” Simon asks, his tinny voice just barely echoing from within his metal body.

Basil passes Simon and climbs up the ladder to get onto the ship. He wants to find something that will cut off the band before they take Deborah to get some food, clothes, a bed, and whatever else a growing boy needs.

Deborah looks between Basil, who is disappearing into the ship, and Simon, who is waiting for his answer. 

“Hello, Simon. I’m Deborah. I’m--um--I guess I’m… living with you now? I mean, traveling--or staying--with you for now.”

Simon nods his robot head and gestures for Deborah to follow after Basil. “Well, you’re going to have to take a bath soon, Deborah. You’re a bit dirty, and I like to keep everything clean in here. That goes for language too! So don’t you start picking up the Captain’s bad habits.”

Basil makes for the place where he thinks Simon has moved his tools. He doesn’t use them all that much, since Simon tends to fix whatever needs to be fixed. “Where’s the damn bolt cutter?” He opens a few doors to rooms he usually leaves alone and finds cleaning supplies, dry food supplies, meticulously organized items that Basil was sure he had misplaced months ago, but no tools yet.

“I can cut that thing off you if you want, Deborah,” Basil hears Simon offer over the hiss of the door shutting. He stops rooting around in the cleaning closet.

“That would be nice, thanks.” Deborah murmurs. 

There is a telltale whir of Simon’s arm becoming some sort of gadget, then a small clink of metal falling to the floor of the ship.

Basil starts the ship’s thrusters and sets off for a spaceship hotel at the far side of the space city. It’s not much of a change, but it will keep Atlas frustrated tomorrow. And he is pretty sure that side of the city is a bit more friendly to families looking for places to shop.

Not that he’s intending going to become Deborah’s father or anything like that.


End file.
